


Like Father, Like Son

by Mariadoria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Master of Death Harry Potter, The Avengers - Freeform, i don't know how to tag, this is a story where Steve is Harry's dad somehow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24885481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariadoria/pseuds/Mariadoria
Summary: It all started with a blond strand of hair. From there, all Harry Potter has known about his life begins to unravel as he finds out the truth about his past and who he is, unearthing secrets that he didn't believe possible and finding family he didn't know existed. But maybe these changes could be a new beginning, a blessing in disguise, if he looks at it the right way.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Steve Rogers, Harry Potter/Natasha Romanov (Marvel)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	1. A Blond Strand of Hair

Nine months after the end of the second Wizarding War, Harry Potter noticed something strange. 

He was standing in front of his bathroom mirror, lopping off bits of hair that flopped into his eyes too often. Due to the unruly nature of it, he was able to get away with uneven bit without no-one being any the wiser. Plus, it meant he saved a few galleons on a haircut. Honestly, the prices that people charged him just because he was famous. He wasn’t quite sure how they could justify it, but he wasn’t going to go rifling around inside their heads looking for the answer. 

Just as he was about to take the last piece off, a blond strand of hair fell into his hands. Harry narrowed his eyes and held it up in front of him, squinting at it. That was...odd. Maybe the spell has a side effect where it occasionally changed your hair colour? It had never done it before. The laws of magic were steadfast as they came, so maybe that wasn’t the answer. Perhaps a prank? Ron was constantly pranking everyone around him. Maybe that could be the answer. 

No matter, it wasn’t that important. It was possible that the strand of hair belonged to someone else, as well. Strange things consistently happened around him, so finding a hair belonging to a stranger tangled up in his own wasn’t the most outrageous thing to happen to him. Only a few days ago, a howler filled with noises that were only meant to be heard in the bedroom found its way into his apartment, which was in the middle of Muggle london. To say it made him angry was an understatement. He made an urgent note to go to the Ward Specialists to get them his wards improved, especially against unsolicited mail.

After cleaning up the hair, Harry made his way into the kitchen and absentmindedly made a cup of tea. The sweet aroma calmed him down, like it always did. After the War, he took every chance he could to relax and stay calm, and if that meant drinking ten cups of tea a day, he would do it, dammit. Being relaxed stopped him from getting flashbacks. If he could stop those with tea, then sobeit. He took the occasional calming draught, but didn’t rely on him. The last thing he wanted now was to become addicted to some potion. He’d seen the effects, and it wasn’t pretty. Harry shivered at the thought.

Placing the tea on the rickety coffee table, Harry flopped back into the couch and picked up the pile of letters spread out over the couch. All of them contained job offers, each employer desperate to say that they had ‘the Boy-Who-Lived’ working for them. Harry grimaced at the much hated title. The title always came first, it was always what people saw. An idealized version of him that vastly differed from his true personality. Everyone liked to believe that he lived a lavish lifestyle, but in reality he was frugal and lived in a small flat. Another common belief was that he was surrounded by women and revealed the attention he received. This couldn’t be more wrong.

Soon, though, he would have to find a job. For nine months he’d sat at home, not contacting anyone outside his main circle of friends, finding comfort in old muggle movies and his newly acquired cat, Shemia, a fluffy brown moggy who kept him awake all hours of the night. This couldn't continue for long. Rumours were beginning to fly and funds were beginning to dwindle. Well, the funds he’d set up for the year. He may have more money than he knew what to do with, but he wasn’t going to spend it all. Maybe he could become a broomstick designer. The offers were certainly there in their multitudes. Not that he knew a single thing about broomstick designing or the Arithmancy it required.   
So that was off the table.

A lot of offers came from the Ministry of Magic, where he absolutely refused to work. The expectation to become an Auror weighed heavy on his shoulders, dogging him at every turn. He wasn’t going to become an Auror. That much was out of the question. Sure, he would be good at it, but that didn’t matter. What he needed right now was a calm job, without stress or major worry. Something that would make him happy, while also making others happy.

A sudden idea struck him. Florean Fortescue’s, the ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley, was still out of business. He could buy the premises and re-open it, put it back into business. The job wouldn’t entail too much stress and was about as far away from the War he could get. Yes, that was what he was going to do.   
Harry made a note to settle on it right there and then. He wasn’t going to change his mind. 

Suddenly invigorated, Harry took a long swig of tea and gathered up all the letters and pamphlets. He dumped them into the bin with a flourish. Now that he had somewhere to go, something to look forward to, a goal to work towards, everything seemed clear. His eyes began to itch slightly, so he took of his glasses and rubbed them. Unfortunately, this only made the itching worse. 

“What on Earth,” Harry muttered, sitting back down on the couch. He tried to focus on something else other than the itching, but it was virtually impossible. To his dismay, it began spreading, before turning into an intense burning sensation. Harry grit his teeth, fists clenching and unclenching, desperate for it to stop. 

And suddenly it did.

Harry panted in relief, sweat dripping down his face. He wiped his forehead and suddenly paused. Something felt...off. There was definitely something different about his face and the way it felt under his hand. Panic flooded into his chest and he rushed to the bathroom, desperately looking into the mirror.  
When he saw his reflection, Harry screamed, then fainted.

For the face in the mirror didn’t belong to him.


	2. Be Careful of Mrs Weasley's Firepoker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs Weasley is very fearsome, Harry thinks.

Harry Potter woke to his fluffy brown tortoiseshell cat Shemia padding all over his chest. She was meowing incessantly, like she always did when she wanted something. It was most likely food. She did this so often that he sometimes wondered if she was a black hole in disguise as a cat. The thought made him smile slightly. Adopting her from that shelter was one of the best things he’d ever done, even if she was a bloody nuisance sometimes.Harry groaned and gently swatted Shemia aside, beginning to haul himself to his feet.

Then he remembered what had happened and collapsed to the ground again, hitting a nerve in his elbow. Pait rocketed up his arm, sharp and short. Harry hissed in pain and tears began to form. Not from the pain, which was gone as soon as it came. No, from that one glance in the mirror, the one second where he took in everything that had changed about him.

He was...changed. Everything about his appearance had changed, from his hair to his eyes. Oh Merlin, his eyes. They were gone. No more green to be seen. And that wasn’t even mentioning the face structure. Harry glanced down at his trembling hands and thinned his lips to stem the tears when he saw even those were changed. Instead of his old hands, with small palms and rather short fingers, the palms were now large, with long, slender fingers replacing his old ones. His wrists were extremely thin. It extended to his arms as well.

Desperately, Harry felt his face. He could be dreaming. That was always a possibility. Or maybe it was one of Ron’s pranks. That was the most likely explanation. Okay, Harry thought, get a grip. He’d survived a war. He could survive this. Ron really had some explaining to do. The scale of this prank 

With Shemia meowing around his ankles, Harry stood and gazed into his bathroom mirror. The face that stared back was a total stranger. His gleaming green eyes were now a light shade of blue, not unlike Ron’s. They had a thick black outline, sitting under low, straight eyebrows, which gave him a strangely serious look. His chin was pointed, cheekbones higher and nose definitely larger. And atop his head sat a mop of blond hair, just grazing the tops of his eyebrows and horribly uneven, due to the cut he’d given it. The rest of his body didn’t fare any better. Where he used to be quite robust in stature, he now stood an inch shorter and far thinner. He lifted up his shirt and could individually count all of his ribs. 

“Haha, very funny, Ron,” he muttered, scooping up Shemia. He walked out into the kitchen, promptly tripping over his own feet. He careened into the floor, landing hard. Shemia yowled at him and slashed a claw across his cheek, skittering off to hide under the couch. Her green eyes glowered out at him. Harry glowered right back, even going so far as to stick his tongue out. Honestly, that cat was a hellion at times. He couldn’t count the scratches.

Apparently, with this new body he wasn’t very coordinated at the moment. His thoughts were confirmed the second he took a step and crashed sideways into the kitchen cabinets. So, using the wall as support, he slowly made his way to the lounge, where the makeshift fireplace was located. He didn’t have an owl, so a floo call was the next best option. He could only hope against hope that Ron was at the burrow. If he wasn’t then one of his numerous family members would be able to get into contact with him fairly urgently. The level of magic on this one was incredible. Hermione had probably helped him with it. Or George.

Dust flew everywhere as he dug his hand into the floo pot. Coughing, Harry knelt down and chucked the floo powder onto the grate, while very clearly saying, “The Burrow.” The flames blazed green. With a high (he really did dislike the floo) Harry stuck his head into the grate. He was terribly dizzy for a second, before his head emerged out of the fireplace at the Burrow in a puff of green soot.

Quickly, Harry glanced around. The lounge was still haphazard as ever, with mismatched chairs, threadbare carpet and blankets in dire need of replacing. The wooden floor were old and worn, from years of being walked over. A delectable smell wafted over from the kitchen. Good, that meant Mrs. Weasley was home at least.

Time to get her attention.

“Mrs. Weasley,” he yelled. “Over here, in the fireplace!” There was a great clattering of pots and lots of strange wizarding swear words. Harry saw Mrs. Weasley (he was trying to break out of the habit of calling her that, though it wasn’t going well) stomp over, clearly very grumpy. Oh, dear. He’d caught her in a strop.

“You’d think you’d learn how to knock, Harry,” she chastised. Then she looked down at Harry’s head, surrounded by wild green flames. “Merlin’s beard! Who are you? Get out of my fireplace!” She picked up the tire tongs and brandished them like a sword. Harry cringed. He would have to move fast. There was nothing more scary than an incensed Mrs. Weasley (Molly, he reminded himself) waving fire tongs in your face.

“Mrs. Weasley, it’s me!” Harry gabbled. “I think Ron’s played a prank on me to change my appearance.” He backed out of the call as she took a mighty swipe at his head, before returning in a ploom of ash. “Hear me out!”

“Why would I need to hear you out? You’re clearly not Harry.” She threateningly wiggled the fire tongs at him again. Harry didn’t move this time. He was going to stand his ground. “Shoo! Get out of my fireplace before I take one of your eyes out.” Harry sighed. He was going to have to go through and explain the situation in person. If there was anyone who was stubborn as an ox, it was Molly Weasley.

“Okay, give me a minute.” As he left, Harry heard a loud, “And stay out!” He chuckled slightly. That was definitely Molly.

As he closed off the call and gathered another round of floo powder, doubts began to spread at the back of his mind. The theory that it was a prank was slowly beginning to fall apart. He didn’t know of any type of magic that could do this. There was always the idea of a slow acting version of polyjuice. The only problem was that the last time Harry had actually seen Ron was two weeks ago. Harry still clung onto it, used it as a lifeline, though the looming possibility that something darker was going on slowly began to crawl through his body.

Harry shook this off and stepped up to the fireplace. Once again, he threw down the floo powder and very clearly stated, “The Burrow!” Roaring emerald flamed leapt up from the grate and consumed Harry, spinning him through multiple grates. Soon, he was spat out onto the hearth rug of the burrow, a jumble of awkward limbs and soon to be bruising.

Molly appeared out of the kitchen, wand now clutched in her hand. Her face was dangerous and stormy, like brooding clouds and an oncoming volcanic eruption all balled into one terrifying expression. Harry grabbed his own holly wand and pointed it at her. Well, if she wanted to play it like that…

“Just who are you, thinking you can come in here and say you’re Harry?” she hissed. “You’re cruel and manipulative, that’s what you are. I can’t even begin to think about what thoughts run through your head.” Harry frowned. This was a little extreme, wasn’t it? Surely, he couldn’t be that different. At least, she would recognise his wand.

“I swear, it’s me, Molly,” Harry said. He still didn’t lower his wand. “I just want to talk to Ron. Let me see him, please.”

“My son isn’t here, imposter! You even have his wand and his voice. What have you done to him, you bastard?” Molly was now approaching Harry with all the prowling grace of a tiger. He gulped. This wasn’t going as well as he expected.

“What if I tell you something only I would know?”

“Alright, try me.”

“My patronus is a stag, which was my father’s animagus form. Ron, me and Hermione robbed Gringotts to get one of Voldemort’s horcruxes,” Harry shivered at the memory, “my godfather Sirius Black was innocent and framed by Peter Pettigrew!” Molly was looking at him with an indecipherable expression. She was beginning to lower her was, so Harry lowered his in turn. 

Without even looking at him, she turned around and hollered for Ron up the stairs. Heavy footsteps sounded throughout the Burrow and soon a very flustered looking Ron Weasley, flaming hair sticking up at all angles and stubble coating his chin, burst into the lounge. Technically, it was more like an arena at the moment, with the way Molly was previously confronting him.

“Yeah?” he asked, catching sight of Harry. “Who’s this?”

And in that moment, Harry knew. It wasn’t Ron who had changed his appearance. It was another matter altogether. His stomach sank to the very bottom of his toes. It felt like someone was had placed a vice around his heart and was squeezing extremely hard. Suddenly, it was very hard to breathe. 

“He claims to be Harry, and knows information that only Harry knows. I’m not sure about him. He says that he wants to talk to you.”

“Ey?” said Ron, walking towards Harry. He now towered over Harry, who had shrunk considerably. He suddenly noticed that his clothes were hanging on his limbs like he was a washing line, extremely loose and baggy. His cheeks flushed red. “How can you be Harry? Are you on something?”

“Ron, you have to listen to me,” Harry gasped out. “My appearance just changed this morning. I don’t know how. I thought at first that you’d pranked me, but that isn’t it. You have to believe me.”

“Prove it. Use your patronus.”

“I’m not exactly in a state to use one right now, Ron!”

“I can wait.”

“Fine.” Harry raised his wand again and focused on his happiest memory. It just so happened to be when he was reunited with his friends after the Battle of Hogwarts, without the threat of Voldemort looming over their shoulders. Slowly, he let the warmth of the memory flood his body, concentrating only on the elation he felt. Softly, he said, “ _ Expecto Patronum. _ ” It was barely more than a whisper.

A brilliant silver stag burst out of the end of his wand, proudly trotting around the room. Silver wisps of light trailed after it, hanging in the air. Harry smiled and slowly ran a comforting hand over the patronus, even though it wasn’t corporeal. “Is that proof enough?” he whispered.

“We need to get Hermione over,” said Ron, his face drained of all colour. “Stat.”

Harry snorted. Maybe things weren’t so bad. They would find a way for him to return to his true appearance soon. “Agreed.”

**LINE BREAK**

_ If any of you have discord, I have created a server about everything fanfiction. There aren’t many people on it at the moment, and I would like to create a small community. So if you want to join, the link is below. You will have to type it in (you can’t copy text on here) but you will be able to join. The link is permanent and won’t ever expire. I would love it if you would join. _

[ https://discord.gg/Kb9zJgV ](https://discord.gg/Kb9zJgV)

_ Sincerely, _ _   
_ _ Mariadoria  _


	3. An Address, on Jubilee Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trail begins to heat up

Hermione, it seemed, was both utterly fascinated and frustrated at the same time with his conundrum. When she burst out of the fireplace, hair looking like someone had electrocuted it, she was skeptical, though didn’t have a reaction on the scale of Molly, thank Merlin. It took Prongs to convince her of who she was. Then, she promptly decided to have a rather impressive conniption, absolutely freaking out, before falling into a fit of hysterical laughter. Harry and Ron stood off to the side, mildly confused, while Molly returned to the kitchen, deciding to leave them to their business. Eventually, she calmed down and quickly returned to to her usual analytical self, shoving Harry down onto the couch and examining him.

“I don’t know how this has happened off the top of my head,” muttered Hermione in frustration. Her eyebrows knitted together and her lips pursed. “Surely, there’s something you’ve done. Think, Harry.” She was right up close to him, like she was interrogating him. She didn’t quite seem to grasp the concept that he didn’t know anything about what had happened to him.

“We’ve already done this before,” sighed Harry, running his hand through his newly blond (and extremely choppy) hair. “I’ve done everything normal. Unless there was something in one of those job applications I opened. That isn’t possible, is it?” There wasn’t any kind of magic that Harry had ever heard of that could do that. He wasn’t exactly the smartest in the field, so there was always the possibility that Hermione knew of something he didn’t. That was fairly plausible.

“Not that I know of.”

No longer plausible.

“You’re getting that look,” laughed Ron, returning to the lounge with a large chicken sandwich. He sat down, towering over Harry. “Harry, your change into an absolute twig is good for one person I guess.” He laughed. “Ow, Hermione, calm down.” He dodged Hermione’s swats.

“This is serious, Ronald,” she berated, before turning back to Harry. “I am going to have to do some research into this. From what you’ve told me, it’s similar to a Glamour spell.” She pulled a small white bag out of her purse. A loud ‘whumpf’ could be heard. “Oh. There go the books.”

“So you do know what it is,” pushed Harry. Finally, an answer.

“I said it was similar.” He deflated again. “This is something new. It’s charms work that I’ve never seen or heard of.”

“Well, that’s great,” muttered Harry. “So, I guess I’m stuck looking like this for the time being?” And wasn’t that just  _ peachy? _

“It seems so.” said Hermione. She was genuinely apologetic, even biting on her bottom lip. Harry didn’t blame her, though. Apparently, what had happened to him was becoming more and more obscure by the minute. Great. Just great.

“Bad luck, mate. Of all the people to turn into, it’s a twig.”

“Again with the twig? Seriously?” Harry raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure how it would make him appear. 

“It’s funny,” Ron defended weakly. “Anyway, what are we going to do for the time being? Hermione?”

“Just a minute.” Hermione’s voice was muffled. Her entire head had disappeared inside the small bag. The sight was rather amusing. “I’m looking for a book. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.”

“Well, she’ll be gone for an hour,” said Harry, finding at least a little bit of mirth in the situation. He turned back to Ron. “Are you absolutely sure that this isn’t you?”

“I can’t do magic this good, mate. You know that.” A sly smirk crept over his face. “Bloody Hell, Harry. You think I can do magic that even Hermione hasn’t heard of. I’m flattered.”

“Yeah, right.”

Hermione emerged from the bag. “I’ve found something that may give me a lead. What I think you two should do is go to Gringotts and visit Harry’s family vault. There’s often records of important spells inside there.”

“You think that this may be something to do with my parents?”

“It’s a stretch, but we need to cover every base. We don’t want to miss out on anything.”

“I guess.” Harry sat down, slumping. “What’s happening to me?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. Moping around isn’t going to do you any good, though. Come on, get moving.” She paused at the calculating look Ron threw her way. Biting her lip, she said, “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“Yep.” Harry forced a weak chuckle, then deepened his voice. “You turn into a stone cold machine with no empathy when on the pursuit of knowledge.” He coughed, throat raw. “Never doing that again.”

“Okay, but really. You should go find out if there’s anything at Gringotts. When was the last time you visited your vault?”

“Um…” Harry paused. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually ever been into the family vault. In fact, now that he thought about it, he kind of left it alone. 

“You haven’t been, have you?” She narrowed accusing eyes at Harry. “Or, you’re still living off your trust vault?”

“The latter, yeah.”

Hermione brightened. “Well, there’s always a first time for everything. Get over there now, go find something. And if you don’t find anything to do with all this,” she vaguely waved her hand around his body (“Thanks,” Harry muttered sarcastically), “you might find some rare magical artifact, or an old family heirloom. If you do, be sure to bring it back for me.”

“She does have a point,” added Ron. “We should go now. It might be important that we do this as soon as possible, as well. This may become permanent.” 

Harry was suddenly very motivated to move. “Alrighty, then. Let’s go. No time to waste.” He grabbed his wand and prepared to turn on his heel. “Meet you at Gringotts.” And he disappeared with a sharp crack.

**LINE BREAK**

“I didn’t think this far ahead,” hissed Harry to Ron. The goblin in front of them was scrutinising Harry with beady black eyes. “I don’t look like me. They aren’t going to let me in.” The goblin heard him, fixing a deadly glare on Harry. If looks could kill, he would be dead as a doorknob.

“Give it a second. They will.” Now Ron was cowering under the gaze of the unusually tall goblin. Their robbery of Gringotts likely didn’t help their reputation among the goblin kingdom. Somehow, Harry knew he wasn’t going to be in for a very good experience right now.

“Key, please?” said the goblin, lips thinning. Nervously, Harry dug around in his pocket and extracted the key, placing it on the polished, granite counter. The goblin, sharpened nails tapping a tattoo on the granite, retrieved the key and held it up.

“This is the key to the Potter trust vault.” It was a statement, not a question. Harry gulped. With his new, shorter height, he only stood a foot taller than the top of the counter. It made the goblin look even more menacing than they previously did, if that was even possible.

“It is.”

“You’re not Harry Potter.” 

Harry sighed with fake regret. “Believe me, I am. I actually don’t have a key for my family vault.” He stopped for a second, carefully considering his next words. “Is a blood test possible?”

The goblin raised a bushy eyebrow. “Certainly,” he said slowly, reminding Harry very much of Snape. “That will require you to come into one of the back offices. Follow me.” The goblin hopped down from his seat and gave a frustrated gesture. They followed him out of the main hall and into the rough, back corridors of the bank. The contrast was still extremely stark every time Harry saw it. But, the goblins did as they did, and he wasn’t exactly going to suggest extending the granite further into the corridors…

“Mate, you alright?” Ron waved his hand in front of Harry’s face. He blinked, zoning back in and backing away from those thoughts about granite. “You zoned out.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“In here.” The goblin pointed them to a large, elaborate door, yet another sharp contrast within the bank. 

“Thank you.” The goblin didn’t reply, just gave him a deadly grin, pointed teeth and blackened gums showing. Harry smiled back and walked into the office.

The inside of the office was the picture of wealth. The floors were a plush grey carpet, sinking with every step they took. Elegant, tapestries hung on the polished granite walls, immensely old and in pristine condition. A large, imposing desk made of gleaming dark stone squatted at the other end, tasteful trinkets placed carefully on the surface. Behind the desk sat an ancient goblin with a fat nose and large, black eyes. 

“Welcome, Mr Potter.”

**LINE BREAK**

“Here is your vault, Mr. Potter. Just ring the bell and a cart will come back to pick you up.”

“Thank you.”

There was no reply, only the screeching of the cart retreating up the tracks. Well, weren’t the goblins just the friendliest of people? He certainly wasn’t keen to redo the process of getting a key made ever again. He was interrogated to a ridiculous degree, and the cut they gave him to get a sample of his blood was definitely more vindictive than it needed to be. They didn’t even bother to heal the wound, which he knew for a fact they usually did. It was payback for robbing the bank, he knew, but still.

“Are you going to open it?” asked Ron, surprisingly eager. “I want to see what’s inside. What do you think we’ll see?” Ron’s eyes were gleaming, not too dissimilar to Hermione when she saw a good book. Or, as in the case of today, was trying to find a way to turn Harry back to his true appearance. He most likely picked it up off her, seeing as they were in a relationship that was steadily getting more and more serious. There were talks of them moving in together. 

“I don’t know.” And he didn’t. He truly didn’t. Curiosity was beginning to creep through him. Quick as he could, Harry pulled out the newly made vault key, still cold and gleaming, and put it inside the keyhole. He turned it. With a clacking noise, the door rolled sideways, into a hole in the wall. The sight that greeted him was definitely not what he was expecting.

The vault in front of him was, for lack of a better word, extremely  _ neat.  _ There were no towering piles of shimmering coins. Instead, there were neatly arranged cabinets, photos and framed newspaper clippings hanging on the dark-stained wooden walls and chests of draws slipped into the gaps. There was even a giant oak bookshelf at the back, boasting numerous books that Hermione was sure to salivate over. At least, Harry thought, their mission to find the elusive spell document wasn’t going to take place in squalor. That was always a positive.

As they steps over the threshold, great clouds of dust plumed up, getting into their noses. Harry started coughing, while Ron began a series of impressively large sneezes. Eventually they stopped, standing in the middle of the vault. Ron moved over to the left of the room, while Harry took the right. The search began in earnest and in silence, only the occasional quip being exchanged, until...

“Wait.” Ron paused. “What exactly are we looking for?” That made Harry stop his search. It would help if they knew exactly what they were looking for, rather than just searching for everything. He thought for a second.

“Anything to do with my change in appearance. It’s most likely a document, like Hermione said.” That narrowed it down. Harry wasn’t sure why he hadn’t narrowed it down before. His thoughts kept wandering to places they didn’t need to be. 

“You’re being very calm about this. If I were you, I’d be freaking out.”

“I’m surprised, too.” It was a little strange, how he was just taking everything in his stride. Especially something as large as his appearance completely changing. They lapsed back into a comfortable silence. Harry’s insides were another story altogether, a swirling storm of icy shards that threatened to prick at his protective bubbles until he broke. He pushed them away, though.

He sat down on the wooden floor and pulled open the bottom draw of a large chest of draws. No cloud of dust puffed forward this time. The draw was surprisingly deep. There was nothing in it except a small, dark box made of woods. Elaborately carved vines swirled over the surface. With deep reverence, harry opened the box. Inside, sitting deep inside a nest of crushed velvet, was a simple silver compass. The initials, ‘ _ F.P’  _ were engraved into the top. It had belonged to Harry’s grandfather, Fleamont Potter. He carefully put the box inside the bag he’d brought. That was definitely something he was going to keep.

“Hey, I think I found something.” He snapped out of his compass-driven haze.

“Really?” Harry rushed over. Ron was holding a sealed paper envelope, dated around ten months before his birth. The paper was yellow but crisp, meaning that it wasn’t from the wizarding world. He snatched it out of Ron’s hands and peeled it open, extremely careful not to damage anything. Harry’s heart dropped when he saw what it contained.

“What is it?” asked Ron, peering over Harry’s shoulder.

“I-I don’t know.”

The letter held nothing but a solitary address, written in clean black ink

**LINE BREAK**

_ Don’t forget to join my discord server. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It’s set to never expire. _

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_ Sincerely _ _   
_ _ Mariadoria _

  
  
  



	4. A Shocking Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to bubble to the surface

For a few seconds, Harry just blankly stared at the address. Then:

“An address? How can it be just an address?” he fretted. “This can’t be it. It must be wrong. Mum and Dad wouldn’t leave this little information for me.” It couldn’t be what they were looking for, could it? If there was even anything here in the first place, it wouldn’t be a single address printed on a yellowing, brittle piece of paper. 

“Or, there is the possibility that it has nothing to do with what we’re looking for,” said Ron, the voice of reason for once, confirming Harry’s suspicions. “Let’s keep looking, yeah? We’ll keep this and if we find nothing else, then we can go see what this is about.” That sounded more like it.

Harry nodded. “Okay, yeah. That’s a good idea. Let’s keep looking.” He carefully put the envelope in the bag, along with the compass. 

And look they did. For at least three hours, they perused every nook and cranny, hunting for that elusive document or artifact that would yield more information than a single address.  _ An address!  _ Of all the things for them to find and hold onto, it was an address! It puzzled Harry. It was a lead, sure, but a very obscure one that likely wouldn’t prove very helpful. Still, a lead was a lead, even if it didn’t go anywhere. There were many other documents that they took as well, all mentioning specific details about spells or family history. Hermione was likely to know what they were when she looked over them. Apart from those documents, he found a few more personal items he wanted to keep, including a picture of James and Lily and a particularly nice fountain pen belonging to some obscure family member he’d never heard of.

In the end, their search revealed nothing more, except a strange glass orb with unnerving blue light floating inside it that Harry decided to bring back for Hermione. To say he was thoroughly dejected was an understatement. It felt like a dark, brooding cloud was hanging over his head, storming all over his thoughts, which weren’t exactly positive to begin with.

“I guess this is it?” Harry stared down at the address on the paper. It was taunting him. The other documents were inside the bag, safely tucked away. There was something about the address that drew Harry toward it, so he was holding it tight in his hand. It was now extremely crumpled, to a degree where it looked like someone had screwed it up, tossed it in the rubbish and then got it out again.

“I guess so,” sighed Ron. He too seemed disappointed with their search. “Let’s leave.” Ron turned to go. He turned around to go, but Harry didn’t move. He stood in the middle of the vault, eyes closed, breathing deeply. It was a long time since he’d felt such a connection to his family. It made his reluctant to leave. Ron put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You can come back here later. We really need to go and follow these things up.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed sadly, finally turning away and stepping out of the cosy vault and onto the rough stone outside. He closed the door and put the key safely in his bag. 

Ron rang the bell a few times. It echoed eerily around the expansive caverns, stretching further down than eyes could see. It wasn’t long before the screeching noise of the cart approaching interrupted the large silence. A different goblin from before sat at the helm. This one was a lot creepier than the other one. Once they were comfortably sat down, the cart zoomed off. The wind whipped through Harry’s hair. With his glasses gone, he was forced to squint against the strong air currents.

Soon, they were standing outside of Gringotts, the sharp winter winds whipping their cheeks raw. The sky was clear and the sun shining, though there was no heat to be found. Shivering, they decided to walk up to the Leaky Cauldron and get a nice warm drink before they headed back to the burrow.

Diagon Alley was still getting its groove back after the war. Most of the stores were open and doing good business. It was the feeling that was different. Caution was now prevalent throughout the entire alley, like people were afraid that Voldemort was going to pop up from behind a bookshelf and start terrorising everyone again. It was slowly improving but the return to its former glory was going to take a long, long time. If there was one thing for certain, it was nice to see that people were happy again, not scared to go out in public. 

They passed a storefront that was still boarded up, red bricks cracked and crumbling, windows smashed and graffiti all over the walls. What a project that would be. Harry smiled slightly and stopped Ron. “I’m going to reopen Florean Fortescue’s, you know,” he said. “I think it will be a nice change of pace. The place needs it, too.” Ron shot him an incredulous look.

“Do you even know how how make ice cream?” He was laughing slightly, clearly thinking that Harry was joking. Ron had gone on to join the Auror force and was doing well in the training program. He clearly loved helping people. Harry did too, but it was time for him to do it another way. Such as: Ice cream.

“Nope. But I’ll learn.” 

Ron patted him on the back just a little bit too hard. He was sent careening into a wooden fence where a young couple were passionately snogging. They immediately began cursing at him. Apologizing profusely, he made a beeline back to Ron.

“I’m a bit more fragile now, mate.” And oh, how it annoyed him.

Ron snorted. “No kidding.” They continued walking up the alley, Harry intent on ignoring the couple’s death glares. “Well, opening it will be good for everyone. This place just isn’t the same without it. Good on you.” 

“Thanks.” 

Ron considered something for a moment. “Are you going to bring back the goody-gum drop flavour? That always was one of the best, and no one knows where he got the recipe. Do you know the secrets now that you decided to open it?”

Harry snickered. “Goody-gum drop comes from muggle supermarkets. He went out and bought it.” Ron looked utterly betrayed.

“So it isn’t a fancy, super secret recipe? You’re telling me I could have been eating it all this time?” 

“Exactly.”

Their conversation was interrupted when a woman with straggly brown hair and a ruddy, pockmarked face approached Ron. She completely. Her unusually large eyes were slightly glazed over. “Are you Ron Weasley?” She seemed very star struck.

“Yes?” he said, not quite knowing how to respond.

“Can you sign my chocolate frog card?” Without waiting for an answer, she thrust the card in his face. Suddenly looking a little star struck himself, Ron took the quill she offered and scrawled his signature over the back of it. The woman beamed. “Thank you, thank you!” She made to leave, but then turned back. “Who’s this?” She gestured to Harry like he was some leftover from last night’s dinner. He bristled.

“This is Ha―” He was cut off when Harry elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Harper. My name is Harper,” he sent a side glance at Ron. He wasn’t going to have Ron bungling through a conversation and accidentally revealing their strange predicament. “Nice to meet you…” He trailed off, not knowing her name. Just because she was treating him awfully, didn’t mean he needed to return the ‘favour.’

“Genevieve Armand.” She smiled at him condescendingly, like he wasn’t good enough to be in the presence of someone like Ron. “Anyway, I better be going. Nice to meet both of you.” She was only looking at Ron when she left, completely ignoring Harry. Genevieve pranced off down the alley, heading towards Gringotts, waving the chocolate card frog in the air. If she starting singing out of the blue, Harry wouldn’t be surprised.

“That was strange,” said Ron, blinking in a way that made him look like a particularly startled owl. He wasn’t used to people approaching him all the time, that much was clear. 

“You’re lucky, mate,” muttered Harry. “Everywhere I go I get bloody swamped. It’s a relief to walk around without cameras flashing in my face.”

“I guess.” Then he grinned at Harry. “I still can’t believe I’m on a chocolate frog card. How cool is that?”

“Very cool.”

“You don’t seem too excited about that.”

“Yup.”

They continued exchanging sarcastic, light hearted insults until they reached the Leaky Cauldron. A warm wave of air washed over them, so warm it was almost stifling. Harry went and found a table, while Ron ordered their drinks. He soon returned with a butterbeer in one hand and a firewhiskey in the other.

“What happened to warm drinks?” asked Harry, happily taking sips of butterbeer. Anything warm at the moment was a relief. His reflection was distorted in the glass. He hastily glanced away, not wanting to see those serious eyebrows or pointed chin. 

“I changed my mind. Hey, are you alright?” He cast concerned eyes on Harry. 

“Hmm?” He glanced up. “Yeah, yeah I’m alright.”

“Okay, I’m going to tell you this now. No matter what you look like, you’re still my best mate. Even if you’re a twig.” Harry chuckled into his drink. 

“Thanks, I guess.” He really wanted this conversation to end.

Sensing this, Ron said, “So how are we going to find this place?” Taking a sip of his drink, he grimaced. “I’ve never really been out there, so you’re in charge here.”

“Out there? Do you mean London?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re joking.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Okay, so that’s a snag. I think we should get these documents back to Hermione and then follow the address. Sound good?”

“Yep.”

Harry downed the butterbeer in one gulp. Ron tried to do the same with his firewhiskey, but ended up spluttering and hacking from the searing drink. Harry guffawed at him, and then they both left to take the documents back to Hermione for analysis.

**LINE BREAK**

“There has to be something simple.” said Ron. They were currently standing at the back of a shady alley (out of sight of the muggles) figuring out how to find the address from the envelope. It wasn’t proving very good, at the moment. Hermione wasn’t going to be any help to them for a few days. She was currently devouring the documents and artifacts they bought back for her, with that carnivorous gleam in her eye that would only be satiated when she absorbed enough knowledge to satisfy a mammoth.

“A map book.” Harry said suddenly.

“Huh?”

“There are map books of London. We could buy one and locate it from there.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t that take ages? London’s bloody big.” Harry groaned and put his head in his hands. He hadn’t thought of that.

“True. And we don’t have much time. This thing,” he gestured to his face, “could become permanent.”

“A point me spell!” Ron looked very pleased with himself. 

“That can’t work,” Harry snorted. Then, uncertainly, “can it?”

“You won’t know until you try. Give it a go!” Ron was looking a little desperate. 

Harry sighed and pulled out his wand, making sure to put all of his willpower into the spell. If it was going to work, he would need all the force behind it he could muster. London was a huge area, and they had no bloody idea where the road was. “ _ Point Me 7 Jubilee Road.”  _ Nothing happened for a few seconds. All of a sudden, the wand began spinning erratically, rapidly changing directions. It did this for at least three minutes, before stopping suddenly, definitely pointing somewhere. Harry laughed in disbelief. “It actually worked!”

“Well, we can’t argue with that, can we?” cheered Ron, pumping his fist in the air. “Come on, let’s go!” 

Being extremely careful that the wand wouldn’t be seen, they walked out of the alley, into the middle of London. Both were hoping that the walk wouldn’t be too long, as the sky was beginning to gain that dusky glow of golden sun and pale, washed out blue. Along the way, there were a few close calls with the wand nearly being discovered, as well as a lady who complimented their cosplay, whatever that was. Both of them were thoroughly bamboozled with that one. After walking for around an hour, they finally came to a street sign that read, ‘Jubilee Road.’

“Finally,” groaned Ron. “I thought we’d never get here.”

“You think you’ve got it bad?” puffed Harry. “It’s not just my appearance that’s changed. I can barely walk without getting puffed.”

“You’ll be back to normal soon. Then this will all be a story we’ll laugh at.”

“I’m not laughing at it now, idiot.” Having caught his breath, Harry stood straight, his cheeks still flushed a brilliant scarlet. “There it is.” He put his wand back in it’s hip holster. “Let’s go in.” Side by side, they walked towards the building that stuck out like a sore thumb.

7 Jubilee Road was a modern building, a startling contrast to the quaint houses around it. Number 7 was all glass and metal and didn’t exactly look welcoming. Harry didn’t care about this. Inside this building were possible answers to his current...condition. Why they were in the middle of muggle London, he didn’t know. For all he knew, this was a dead end. It didn’t mean he wasn’t going to check. 

After hesitating for a second, Harry rapped smartly on the (surprisingly) wooden door, painted a bright, blazing blue. There was no doorbell to ring. Even if there was, Harry found doorbells rude and bit impersonal. Nobody answered, so he knocked again. This time, the door creaked open immediately by an ancient woman. The wrinkles on her face were so deep that a battle could be waged in them. Her hair was pure white, shooting off her head in little tufts, framing sparkling, dark eyes and a welcoming smile.

“Hello.” Her voice was gentle, calming. “How can I help you?” She leaned heavily on the door, a leopard print (that’s very strange, Harry thought to himself) cane clutched in the other.

“Hi,” said Harry. He pulled the envelope out of his bag and showed it to her. “I found this letter in an old box in the attic. I was wondering if you would be able to tell me what this place is?” The lady brightened.

“Oh, certainly. It’s strange that you don’t know, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Come in and sit down. I’ll fix some tea. It’s just lovely to have visitors.” 

“Don’t know what?” Harry asked. She merely smiled and ushered them inside.

She disappeared into the house. Harry and Ron followed. Inside, the house was even more strange, a mishmash of modern and what looked to be the...fifties. It was like two people of two totally different personalities had clashed when building a house and this was the chaotic result. The lounge, though, was completely the older style. It was comforting and simple. Also, the couches were comfortable, which certainly helped to ease Harry’s nerves.

They sat in an awkward silence, until the old lady came out, carrying a teetering tray in one hand. The other was holding the cane. Harry jumped up and grabbed the tray off her, placing it down on the coffee table. He couldn’t help but notice that she was taller than him.  _ Of course.  _ She smiled serenely at him.

“It’s just lovely to see that chivalry hasn’t died.” She elegantly sat down in a delicate armchair. Her cane clattered to the floor. “Thank you. I’m Gladys, by the way.

“You’re welcome, I guess. I’m Harry, and this is my best mate Ron,” shrugged Harry. He turned serious again. “I’m sorry to press, but what do you mean, ‘it’s strange that you don’t know,’” pressed Harry. A lump was beginning to form in his stomach, heavy and ugly. He didn’t know why. “What do you mean, a first time for everything?”

She sighed. “You might want to sit down for this, sweetie.” Harry did as he was told, backing into a chair and falling into it. His breath was beginning to come very quickly and black was encroaching on the edge of his vision.

“What happens here?” he said weakly. “Please, tell me.

“It’s what used to happen here, actually,” Gladys corrected. “I used to work here, but bought the building when the company went out of business.”

“What company?” begged Harry. He needed to know, he needed to know right now what used to happen here.

“There’s no light way to put this.”

“Just tell me.”

“This used to be a sperm bank.”

**LINE BREAK**

Silence.

That was all that filled Harry’s head. He could hear nothing, feel nothing except shock. Shock that made him numb, shock that made him feel everything that touched him. The world in front of him was white, a muffled landscape meant to cushion the words he’d just been told. But nothing could cushion those words.

Somehow, Harry could feel the air. It was getting heavier, approaching closer and closer, weighing more than the heaviest safe. It perched on his shoulders, pressed into his eyes, filled his ears with cotton buds and crushed his fingers. The white landscape in front of him was only becoming brighter and a loud ringing was bouncing and pounding in his head, playing cricket inside his skull.

Muffled voices began breaking through the barrier, and suddenly, Harry James Potter was snapped out of his haze and back into a reality that he would much rather raze to the ground than live in.

**LINE BREAK**

“No. That’s not possible.” Somehow, Harry was standing on the opposite side of the lounge, with no memory of having gone there.

Gladys gave him a sympathetic smile. It rubbed on his nerves, now. “I assure you, I know where I worked. I live in the building.”

Harry’s legs buckled under him. Luckily, Ron was beside him and caught his arm. “This can’t be true. It can’t be.” Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. If they started, Harry knew that he wouldn’t be able to stop them. 

“Are you telling me that your parents didn’t tell you?” Gladys now seemed incensed, though not at Harry. Her face contorted into an ugly glare, eyebrows low and cheeks tight, which she fixed on the couch. “How could they not tell you?” She grabbed her cane and took a step closer to Harry. “How cruel would they have to be to let you find out this way?”

“My parents are dead!” Harry was yelling at this point, lashing out at anything that moved. Gladys was unfazed, though her hair did look slightly more startled than it did before. “They’ve been dead my entire life. How were they supposed to tell me! Give me an answer!” He slammed a fist down on the coffee table, rattling the tea still on the tray.

“Oh.” Gladys pursed her lips. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“I DON’T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY,” Harry snarled. “What I need is the truth. This is a joke, isn’t it? A cruel joke set up to gain revenge on me for something stupid I did years ago. That’s it, isn’t it?” Harry fell back onto the couch. “Oh, how stupid am I?” He leaned back, dragging his hands through his hair, not even bothering to wipe away the fat, salty tears sliding down his cheeks. “The great Harry Potter, reduced to this! THIS ISN’T REAL!”

“Calm down, dear.” Gladys sat down next to Harry and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m afraid to tell you that this is, indeed real. This really isn’t the best way for you to find out, but here we are. What we can do is work through this process together.” 

“No,” he croaked out. “This can’t be real. Please, tell me this isn’t.” He cast desperate eyes on Gladys. She moved forward and embraced him. “It can’t be.” She pulled out of the hug and smiled at him.

“You know, Harry, I remember the day your parents came in here.” A teary eyed Harry glanced up at her.. “That’s right. They were so kind and considerate, the nicest people you could ever meet. I remember James, with his flyaway hair, and Lily, with her freckles and gleaming eyes. They were so sad that they couldn’t have children of they own, but still so optimistic. It’s rare to see a couple so loving.” Harry wiped the tears from under his eyes.

“You were there?”

“Indeed, I was. And I’m telling you this now, before you get some false notions in your head. Just because James isn’t your biological father, doesn’t mean he didn’t love you. I didn’t see them again after that day, but I knew he would be the finest of fathers. He loved you like you were his flesh and blood.”

“I-I don’t know what to do.” Harry’s voice barely came out, his throat raw and bloody from the yelling.

“It’s alright. This has happened before with other people. In fact, you’re handling this remarkably well.” Gladys paused for a second. “If you want, I can tell you who your biological father is.”

“You know?”

“It would be hard not to. Even though I wasn’t there the day that they picked you, it’s clear as day. You’re the spitting image of him.”

“Who?” Harry whispered hoarsely. “My world has already been upended. I don’t what more could make it worse.”

“Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

“Go ahead.” Harry really didn’t care at this point. What difference could one name make now?

“A certain man called Steven Rogers.”

**_LINE BREAK_ **

_ Don’t forget to join my discord server, if you have discord. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It’s set to never expire, you just have to type it in. _

[ https://discord.gg/Kb9zJgV ](https://discord.gg/Kb9zJgV)

_ Sincerely _ _   
_ _ Mariadoria _


	5. Lily and James, Circa 1979

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback

In the chilly September of 1979, two hunched over figures walked down Jubilee Road. They walked hand in hand, both shivering at the uncharacteristically cold weather. The reason they were walking along the road was something that they were keeping a secret, not wanting to tell any of their family yet. It didn’t help that they were in the middle of a war, with enemies who reacted extremely violently against anything that wasn’t ‘pure.’ Every time the couple talked about it, that word was spat out with a snide derision, complete with a side plate of utter disgust.

The male shivered, rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm up. “Is this the place?” asked James Potter, turning to his wife Lily. He was, uncharacteristically, quivering with nerves. “Are you sure you want to do this?” They had talked about it so much, gone over every single option. Lily, the little firecracker that she was (and she was little, standing at just over five feet), was dead set on this option, though. James still wasn’t sure.

“Yes, this is the place, and yes, I want to do this,” Lily sighed. “James, we’ve discussed this so many times. I want to do this. I want children.” Sometimes, James frustrated her so much. How difficult was it for him to understand that adoption and surrogacy were last resorts for her? It was already bad enough that they couldn’t have their own children. It had always been a dream for her to carry her own children.

“There are other ways for you to do it, though. There are ways in the magical world.” As progressive as he was, James still defaulted back to the magical world and the options it held for infertile males, as barbaric as some of them were. Sometimes, when they talked about the options, he folded in on himself, like he was less of a man because he couldn’t have biological children. When he’d first told Lily, he looked like he was expecting her to slap him silly and then leaving in a hailstorm of insults. They were past that total shame now, but talking about it still made James a bit antsy.

“And I want to carry my own child. Don’t you dare try and take that away from me.” Lily rounded on James, stopping him in his tracks. “You know how much this means to me, so stick to your agreement.”

“I would never―” James looked aghast at just the thought.

“Then don’t.” Lily’s voice held a tone to finality. “We’re doing this, right here and right now. We’ve discussed this so many times, you stupid man.” Lily gently kissed James. “And I don’t care that the child won’t be yours biologically. You’re going to be a fantastic father, I know you are. Things are going to turn out fine, and we’re going to have a family when all this is over.” The thought made her almost glow. James smiled fondly at her.

“O-Okay. I’m just worried. Something could go wrong. The procedures are still so new!” The muggle world still made him nervous. Well, this side of it. Clubs, bars and record stores, on the other hand, James was very familiar, often going out with Remus and Sirius. Peter was absent more often, though it was for personal reasons, which Lily and James respected.

“Look at you, doing all the fretting. Usually, it’s me doing that.” Lily giggled. “You’re turning into a total worrywart.” A sudden gust of frigid wind swirled down the street, sending them both violently shivering. “Come on, let’s go in. It’s chilly out here.” They walked up to the door. James knocked firmly, hands snapping back into his pockets, which were like a sauna compared to outside of them.

No one came to answer the door. James was about to knock again, when he saw the sign next to it, reading, ‘ _ Please come in to the reception.  _ “Oh.” Lily was snorting at their stupidity. She pushed the door open. A strong, almost overpowering smell of sterilised metal hit them, almost making Lily block her nose. She turned to James. __

“There’s no going back now,” he murmured. following Lily into the building that was all glass and metal beams. It was so different to anything that he’d seen in the wizarding world. The design fascinated him, making him think of vessels that weren’t of this world. He made a mental note to build something in their backyard of a similar design. Maybe it could be a playhouse for their future child. The thought made him all warm and fuzzy inside.

“You got that one right,” chuckled Lily. She took his hand, squeezing comfortingly. “But think about it, James. We’re going to be parents. We’re going to have our own child. Just think about it.” 

“I already have.” 

As one, strong unit, they approached the large desk. It extended from one wall to another, a small part of it on hinges, to let the receptionist behind it. Behind the desk sat a small lady with wispy hair and light wrinkles lining her face. She glanced down at her book and then back up. “Hello. Lily and James Potter, I presume?” Her tone was welcoming and warm, setting the prospective parents at ease.

“Yes, that’s us,” answered James easily. The lady stood up, back ramrod straight, pushing her simple, rolling chair under the desk. “We…” James trailed off, not sure what to say. The lady, however, jumped right in before the conversation took a turn into the awkward territory.

“Nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs. Potter.” She lead them through another door, which lead to a stark white room with a few seats and tables strategically scattered about, a purposely haphazard style. “I’m Gladys Jones. Please take a seat in the waiting area.” She pointed towards two seats. “Dr. Hannigan will be with you shortly. Would you like some tea? It does wonders for your nerves. You, Mr. Potter,” Gladys fixed the jittering man with a pointed glance, “look like you, especially, could use some.” Lily snickered. James pouted. Gladys wondered if this man was a child in an adult’s body.

“That would be lovely, thanks,” Lily said, before James could say something that would only embarrass him further. She pushed him down into a seat, sitting in the other, flashing Gladys a winning grin. Or, the grin that women give other women when their husband is being an utter idiot.

“I’ll be right back with your tea. You two make yourself at home. There are magazines in the draws, and for your husband, a colouring book and crayons.” She booked it out of the waiting area, not even bothering to see James’ gaping mouth. After muttering under his breath, he turned to Lily, eyes suddenly wide. Like it had just fully dawned on him what they were doing.

“We’re really doing this,” said James. He held his head in his hands. “I-I...what if I’m not a good dad?”

“You’re going to be a fantastic father. And yes, we’re actually doing this, and I won’t hear another word about it. Nothing is going to go wrong. When this is over, we’re going to be starting a family. Think about it.”

Far from panicking now, James gazed off into space, a dreamy look taking over his face. Lily gazed at him fondly. Despite all his doubts, he was going to be the most wonderful, loving father a child could wish for. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t share its biology, even though it used to mean a lot to him. Their child was going to have the best possible life it could wish for. It would have the most fun, loving uncles and she would have to resist the temptation to spoil it rotten. 

Gladys reappeared with a rattling tray of steaming tea in delicately painted china cups, snapping her out of her reverie. James leaped up and took it out of her hands, placing it on the table. She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s lovely to see that chivalry isn’t dead, Mr. Potter. Now, you two stay put here. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me.” Again, she made to leave. Suddenly, she turned back around. “And, congratulations on this step. I know what it’s like to go through it. I just wanted to tell you, everything is going to turn out alright.” 

“Thank you, so much,” said Lily sincerely. “It really means a lot to us. Especially James here.”

“You’re welcome, both of you.” With one last smile, Gladys left the room. They fell into a comfortable silence, Lily drinking her tea and flipping through a muggle magazine (some of the fashion was, quite simply, an abomination). James was sitting anxiously, twiddling his fingers, foot tapping. It was actually getting quite irritating to Lily.

“What do you think he’s going to be like?” James asked suddenly. Lily raised an eyebrow.

“Hmm?” Lily took a sip of the steaming tea. “Who?”

“The biological father,” James said. Clarity rushed through her. Immediately, she opened up her mental checklist that she created, just for an occasion such as this. Creating mental lists was one of her favourite things to do. It was so satisfying organising everything into its correct place. 

“Well, he’s going to be healthy, I know that much. No mental disorders or illnesses in the family. I also don’t want anyone with a prison record. No addictions, prior or present.” James held up a hand, stopping her spiel before it even got going.

He laughed, then said, “I mean with looks.

“Oh.” Lily stopped for a second. “I think we should try and get someone who has similar features to you. Maybe someone with black hair. What do you want?

James bit his lip. “I don’t know. I think I want someone who is similar to me, if we can get that.” He stopped for second. “How did we forget to talk about something as important as this?” He shook his head. “This isn’t a great start, is it?”

“I think it’s a magnificent start. But whoever we pick is going to be healthy.”

“That’s something we can both agree on.”

“Mr and Mrs. Potter?” Gladys had returned, a younger looking man with dark skin and scarred hands standing beside her. “This is Dr. Glenn Hannigan. He will see you now.” She winked at them. “Good luck.” 

James and Lily leapt to their feet, their nerves suddenly returning, faster than a tsunami, and ten times more raging. Now it wasn’t only James who felt like the ground was going to turn into a gaping maw any second. Lily’s heart was pounding harder than the drums at a rock concert.

Dr. Hannigan stepped forward. He was dressed in casual clothes: fading jeans, a hand-knitted woolen sweater and what looked to be well worn Doc Martens. The only thing that betrayed his status as a Doctor was the badge on his chest. Despite how nervous they were, Dr, Hannigan exuded a welcoming aura, similar to Gladys. Even though he was yet to say a word, he seemed like a very nice person.

“If you will follow me through here,” said Dr. Hannigan. His voice was low and resonant, the type of voice that opera singers had. “I’ve already picked out some potential candidates who I think will be best for you. We are a smaller company, so the options aren’t as expansive as some of the larger sperm banks. Because of our smaller company, we are able of offer a far more personal experience than other sperm banks, which I think you’ll appreciate.”

“We don’t need the walking advertisement,” said Lily. “We’re just happy that this technology is even available.”

“You’re not the only one, Mr. Potter. Here’s my office.” He didn’t seem to mind her dismissing his proud speech. Dr. Hannigan held open the wooden door, which didn’t fit the rest of the building. They walked in and sat down on comfortable seats. Lily was a bit shocked, if she was going to be honest. Whereas the rest of the building looked like a time machine to the future, Dr. Hannigan’s office was a portal to the past. It was like they’d stepped straight into the fifties, decor and all. And the Dr. looked completely at home. In fact, it was now a bit strange to think of him in any environment that didn’t look to be straight out of the fifties.

“Now, Mr. and Mrs. Potter―”

“James and Lily, please, Dr. Hannigan,” said James. “This is quite personal, so if you don’t mind, could you call us by our first names?” Lily agreed. 

“If that is what you wish. But, if that’s the case, I insist you call me Glenn. It’s only polite. Now, Lily and James, let’s get down to business.” Glenn opened a draw on his impressively carved desk and drew out three files. “These are the first three I have picked out. If you don’t like them, don’t fret. I have more files for you to choose from. Take your time. I would worry if you didn’t. This is a big decision, afterall.”

“Well, let’s look, shall we?” James said happily. Lily nodded and took the file on top of the pile. She opened it, not sure what she was going to see. Hopefully, something good.

Immediately, from the photo, she knew that it was a definite no. Looking over his details, she saw that he was perfectly healthy, with no disorders or illnesses whatsoever. He was the right age and a good height. There was just the feeling that something was  _ off _ . She looked over at James and saw he looked slightly weirded out.

“Not this one, sorry,” she said, handing it back to Glenn. He smirked. 

“You don’t need to apologise. This is completely normal. Trust me, you’ll know when you find ‘the one.’ It’s a feeling you get. And no, James, I can’t explain it. Go on, take the second one.”

He handed them the second file. Lily opened it and was filled with the same feeling as before, only stronger. Again, this man was totally healthy and quite handsome. He wasn’t sick, had no addictions or disorders. Something was just wrong. James, on the other hand, looked quite happy with this option. It was probably the black hair and hazel eyes of the man in the photo. He did look remarkably similar to James. And yet, to Lily, it was  _ wrong.  _

“What about this guy?” asked James. Lily’s answer was instantaneous.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. There’s just something off. It’s definitely not him.” She wasn’t going to hear anything else. James got the message and handed the file back to Glenn. 

After reading the third file, the result was the same. No luck. Lily couldn’t help but feel slightly dejected. James placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, tracing soft circles on her back. No words needed to be exchanged. They would find the right donor eventually, even if it took several meetings. Lily hoped it didn’t come to that. She wanted to have their child as soon as possible. She was crossing her fingers that it would be today, but she coudn’t hope for something too unrealistic. 

“Are we doing something wrong?” asked James. He was wringing his hands frantically, occasionally fiddling with his golden wedding band, twisting it round and round. This particular action was a nervous habit he’d developed after they got married.

“Not at all, James,” Glenn reassured. “There is nothing unusual about this.”

“I guess.”

Glenn gathered up the files and stood. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Sit tight, alright.” He left the office, smirking at his little rhyme. 

“Are we going to find him?” asked James. His mood kept fluctuating, between overjoyed and deathly worried. “If all the others go like those, then we’re going to have a hard time.”

“We’ll find the one, I’m sure of it. There are hundreds of candidates.” She was interrupted by Glenn returning to the office, three more files. She frowned. That was surprisingly quick. She expected it to take at least ten minutes. Then, her rational side kicked in and she realised that he likely already had them selected.

Dr. Hannigan returned with three more files. 

“Maybe you’ll have some more luck with these ones.”

“Hopefully,” murmured James.

Glenn handed them the first. 

This time, as soon as Lily opened the first one, there was a feeling of...right. The picture was of a handsome man in military dress, with low eyebrows, blond hair and a pointed chin. His name was Steven Rogers. She glanced over at James. He was smiling slightly. They both knew that this was the one. After looking over the file’s details their wishes were confirmed. Even though he looked nothing like either of them, there was something about the photo and details that was perfect for them.

“This is the one.” 

“Are you sure? Do you want to go home and sleep on it? This is a big decision.

Lily glanced at James. He nodded enthusiastically, eyes shining with happiness. “Absolutely.”

**LINE BREAK**

“Prongs! Firecracker!” Sirius greeted enthusiastically, embracing the two of them tightly. Lily wriggled out of his chokehold, anxiously rubbing her slightly swollen stomach. She was past the point where it looked like she was just a bit thick around the middle. To those who were looking, it was obvious she was pregnant. Sirius was not one of those observant enough to see it, though. After they invited him over, he waltzed in and didn’t say anything about it. He would be talking about it soon, though. He was the third person they were telling, after Lily’s parents. She was actually a little nervous about how he would respond. James was totally relaxed.

“Don’t call me that,” she chastised. “You know how much it annoys me.”

Sirius playfully grimaced at her. “You sound exactly like McGonagall when you say that.”

“Professor McGonagall,” Lily half heartedly corrected. Sirius said it at the same time as her. She frowned. “Am I really that predictable?”

“More than you know, Firecracker.” He dodged her swatting at him. “Okay, I won’t call you that anymore.” Lily sent a satisfied smirk his way and pointed to the couch. “Sit.”

“Oi, just because I can turn into a dog...oh, it’s payback isn’t it?”

“Hole in one, Black.” She sat down herself, James flopping down next to her. He stretched his unusually long arms out around her. She leaned into the warm embrace. 

“So, why am I here?”

“We have something we’d like to ask you,” said James. His voice was full of feigned seriousness. Lily noticed that he was hamming it up more than they’d discussed. It was working, despite the fact that he sounded like a cheap knockoff of a James Bond villain. Sirius’s face was falling slightly, the playful smirk always on his lips disappearing. “You have to keep quiet about it. We don’t want this getting out.”

“And if it does,” continued Lily, “we won’t hesitate to cut ties with you.”

“Furthermore, this is a matter of utmost secrecy. So, whatever you answer, you have to keep it a total secret.”

“Okay. I’m a bit worried, but carry on.” Sirius looked more than a bit worried, his face having gone an ashen grey. On the outside, Lily was deathly serious. On the inside, she was cackling maniacally. For the first time, she managed to trick Sirius into believing something that wasn’t true. It was such a hard feat to achieve she was considering making herself a little medal. No, a large, golden trophy, that would be proudly displayed on the mantle, where everyone could see it.

“Would you be our child’s godfather?”

“WHAT!” Suddenly, Sirius was sitting next to them, scooping them into an awkward hug. “Of course! How could I ever say no? Oh, this is amazing! Do you know what gender it is? Whatever it is, they’re going to be the best prankster. I’ll teach it myself. The next generation of the Marauders is beginning. Ow, Lily!” He rubbed his cheek where she’d slapped him. “Come on, you didn’t have to do that.” James chuckled.

“You will do no such thing.” Her glare was coming out in full force. It didn’t affect Sirius in the slightest. “And personal space.” Reluctantly, Sirius returned to his armchair.

“How long have you been pregnant? Come on, spill all the juicy details.” He waggled his eyebrows, revealing exactly what he was thinking about. Lily facepalmed.

“Not the time. And we’re just coming up on twenty weeks―oh, wait!” Lily placed a hand on her belly, eyes suddenly shining. “It just kicked! James! Our baby just kicked!” She grabbed James’s hand and placed it next to hers. His eyes widened as the baby kicked a second time, before a grin split his face in two.

“Wow,” he whispered in disbelief. “That’s incredible. I’m going to be a father.” A sudden bright flash interrupted their moment. Sirius was standing in front of them, holding a camera he’d pulled from somewhere. Usually, lily would have been mad, but she really didn’t mind. That photo was going to become one of her most treasured possessions, she was sure.

“Sirius, get down here.” He didn’t move. Lily gently look his hand and guided it to her belly. It took a while, but the baby kicked again. A soft smile lit up Sirius’ face, and it was then that they knew Sirius was the right choice for godfather. 

And in that moment, everything was right.

**LINE BREAK**

A few months later, Harry James Potter was born with a shock of blond hair and crystal clear blue eyes. Both of his parents immediately fell in love with the adorable baby, who gurgled up at them and was so impossibly fragile. Sirius visited them the day after the birth, being the only one who knew about the sperm bank. Not even Remus or Peter knew. Not telling them was extremely hard, but they were in desperate times. And desperate times called for desperate measures. It wouldn’t matter to them, Lily knew. But, they wouldn’t know their little Harry as he truly looked for an indeterminable amount of time.

The decision they’d made a few weeks earlier was one of the toughest ones they had ever made, but a few weeks before the birth, James and Lily had decided to placed a complex glamour over Harry, which would last for the duration of the war. The prejudice was at an all time high, with Voldemort’s power growing steadily with each passing day. There was already a lot of attention on them, so the last thing they wanted was more. Having a child that looked nothing like either of them would bring that. 

A day before Lily performed the spell, they sent a letter off to Glenn Hannigan, containing a sincere message of their total gratitude for what he’d done for them and a picture of little Harry James Potter, before they changed his appearance. The picture was one that Lily and James would keep close to their hearts, hidden, but always there.

And so, it was with great sorrow that Lily performed the spell two days after their son was born. It was complex, long lasting spell that took all of her effort, leaving her exhausted both magically and emotionally. Both her and James had tears slipping down their cheeks as Harry’s hair darkened, his skin gained a more tanned appearance and his sparkling little eyes turned into picture perfect replicas of Lily’s. His body became slightly taller, similar to how James was as a baby. It hurt them immensely, but one day, they would have their baby boy back as he truly looked. Then, they would reverse the spell and tel Harry the truth about his parentage and appearance, and why they had to disguise him. 

But before the war ended and they could reveal the truth, they were murdered, leaving the mystery of his true parenthood to Harry to solve, seventeen years in the future, when Lily’s spell finally wore off.

**_LINE BREAK_ **

_ If you want to, you can join my discord server. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. I am quite active on there, and am willing to answer any questions you may have about this story or any of my others. If they don’t spoil the story, of course. Small hints are another story, though. _

[ https://discord.gg/Kb9zJgV ](https://discord.gg/Kb9zJgV)

_ Sincerely, _ _   
_ _ Mariadoria _


	6. Glamours are good?

_ Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story, 'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,' by the wonderful Njchrispatrick. It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them _

LINE BREAK

_ Steven Rogers. _

The name, the sound and the look, was already worming its way into Harry's head. It brought with it a potent feeling of betrayal, a bitter taste upon his tongue, a ball and chain shackled to both his ankles. It was dragging him underwater, clogging all of his thoughts with sponges that absorbed every single thought trying to combat the intrusive name. Harry didn't need to say it. He already knew that when he said the name for the first time, it would be laced with poison, a sharp, unwanted, not needed anger. Not directed at anyone in particular. His parents, they weren't in the wrong. Neither was this man,  _ Steven Rogers.  _ His entire life had been flipped on its head. He was allowed to feel irrational anger, dammit!

He suddenly noticed that Ron was supporting him, even though he was slouched back in the comfortable couches. No, scratch that. They used to be comfortable. Now, they were a soft nightmare. He felt like he was sinking into them, being swallowed by what he previously found to be pleasant. It felt like the furniture was mocking him for his awful, awful luck. In fact, it felt like everything was mocking him. Except for Ron and Gladys. They were fine.

And why did it have to be him? He'd just finished the war, just killed Voldemort. The freedom of the last nine months was amazing, something he'd never felt before. To simply walk around without a cloud of expectation hanging of his head was a luxury. Living a normal life, with no surprises and normal worries, like bills and whether the pie in the oven was going to set the kitchen on fire. Just the thought of living his life as he wanted, no expectations of manipulations, made him feel like he was on cloud nine. That was before life threw this curveball at him, which left his feeling sick and barely aware of the world around him.

There were muffled voices around him. Harry couldn't be bothered identifying them. All he wanted right now was to break into the Ministry of Magic and find one of their new and improved time turners. He would only go back a few days. No. Screw that. He would go to a time where no one knew who he was, where he could live until he was an old man. The thought was becoming more and more attractive the more he looked at it.

And then a rush of anxiety hit him, consuming everything he was. He began quivering slightly, his eyes darting wildly around the room. His breath came in short, desperate gasps, making his fingers lose colour and his teeth tingle.

"I-I'm sorry, I th-think have to go," stammered Harry. His legs were shaky. His throat was dry. His ears were buzzing. "I can't stay here. I'm sorry, but I need to go."

LINE BREAK

Ron was extremely worried for Harry. He'd never seen his best friend in such a state, not even when he thought Voldemort was possessing him.

Gladys smiled at Harry through her wrinkles."Of course. Before you go, let me grab you something." She stood and left the room. Harry didn't even notice. Ron was doing the noticing for him now. It worried him that Harry had basically turned incoherent in the matter of a minute, but everyone was allowed their moments of panic. Soon, Gladys returned, holding a thin, beige file. She gave it Ron, who gently took it, tucking it into Harry's bag. "This file contains the information about all the times Lily and James came in here. I thought you might like it. I got it out when I made you tea."

"Thanks, I guess," said Ron. Harry didn't reply, his eyes glazing over. It looked like traumatic memories were playing over and over in his head. It made Ron feel useless. He didn't know how to deal with these things, and here Harry was, in the midst of what appeared to be a breakdown. What was he doing? Sitting down, with an arm around Harry, rather than doing something useful. He felt like he wasn't even trying.

"Also, Before you go, though, take this." Gladys took a piece of paper and wrote her phone number on it in elegant script. Ron shoved it into his pocket. He, for one, didn't ever want to see it again. "I am always happy to talk to you. You're welcome to come back any time." Gladys, with her kindly nature and calming voice, was beginning to grate on his nerves. All he wanted was to get Harry out of here, to a place where he felt safe.

"I think it's going to be a long while before that happens, somehow," said Ron.

"I totally understand. Bye, dears." Gladys waved at them, a sad smile on her face. Ron couldn't hate her, though. She'd told them the truth, just as Harry demanded. She couldn't have known how it would affect them, especially Harry.

"Bye." Ron said halfheartedly.

They left the building quickly. Outside, the air was frigid, the sky losing the last parts of light to the night. Harry was staggering along, eyes blank and arms hanging limply, seeing but not seeing. Ron was supporting him. When he tried to talk to Harry, he got no response. That wasn't surprising. So, Ron gently took Harry's wrist and disapparated into the lounge of the Burrow. Hopefully, Harry would feel more comfortable there.

Hermione was deep in a pile of documents, several recording sheet set to write down whatever she said levitating in the air around her. She heard them come in, but didn't look up from her work. As per normal, Ron thought. She did speak, though. Ron listened to her, while sitting Harry down on the cushy, patched couch.

"Oh good, you're back. I've found several clues that point towards a complex glamour being placed on him. I'm working on a way to reverse it, so Harry can go back to his real appearance. These documents are fascinating. I've come up with a few theories, and think that this could be a form of extremely well planned and executed revenge for something. What do you think, Harry?" He didn't reply, just stared emptily at the lounge. Hermione turned around. "Hello, Harry?" She got up and walked over to him.

"Hermione―" Ron began, but she wasn't listening to him.

"Earth to Harry Potter." She waved a hand in front of his face. "Are you alright in there?"

"'Mione," began Ron. Hermione whirled around, glaring. Ron cringed. This really was the last thing he needed right now.

"Don't call me that. You know I hate it."

"Now is not the time, Hermione!" shouted Ron. "We've just found out something that has made Harry have a bloody breakdown. So, forgive me, if I don't care about you hating a nickname right now!

"And what, pray tell, has caused Harry to go like this?"

"It isn't for me to tell."

Harry suddenly spoke up, his voice croaking. "Please, Ron. You do it." Relief flooded him. Harry was speaking, and aware of what was going on around them. That was a step in the right direction, from the little he knew about break downs and possible panic attacks.

"You sure?"

"I can't speak those words." Harry seemed broken. "Please, Ron. I-I can't." He put his head in his hands, shaking slightly. "How am I supposed to say it? My entire life has been changed!" His voice raised to a hysterical wail. Hermione now looked extremely worried, her eyebrows knitting together.

"What did you find out?"

Ron dug around in his bag and took out the file that Gladys gave him. He handed it to Hermione. "What we found out is…hard to explain." She opened the file. Her face immediately fell. "James isn't Harry's biological father. It's this guy called Steve Rogers."

"What?" said Hermione. She collapsed into a chair. "This...this is more than I ever thought could happen. How could this...I don't know how to help."

"I don't either."

"Talk with me, rather than about me, for one," said Harry. "I can hear what you're saying, you know." He chuckled weakly. Hermione and Ron immediately rushed to his side, squishing onto the couch alongside him.

"Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

"How were you ever going to? It wasn't possible for you to know."

"I should have figured it out, then we wouldn't be here. Oh, I've been so stupid!"

"Alright, just stop talking, both of you." Ron put his arm around Harry, stopping Hermione in her tracks. She did the same. It was a comforting embrace for Harry, who leaned into it, closing his eyes. Tears leaked out from under them, clumping his eyelashes together. "We're going to take this step by step, alright? We'll cross bridges when we reach them. Whatever fate throws at us, we'll be ready. Got it?"

"Yep," was the teary response from Hermione. Harry remained silent. No more words were said. For a few hours, they just sat there on the couch in each other's arms, taking comfort in the other's presence. It was exactly what Harry needed and began the long road to coming to terms with the truth of his heritage.

LINE BREAK

For a few days, Harry stayed at the Burrow. They didn't do much, just mundane, normal activities, like exploding snap and a small game of catch on broomsticks. It did wonders for him, just spending time with his two closest friends. To other people, the activities might be pointless. To Harry, though, they were worth more than all the gold in the world Eventually, he returned home after three days, reassuring Ron and Hermione he could do well on his own. Shemia was waiting for him, all claws and hissing. He hissed back at her.

For an unknown reason, he went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. His true face stared back at him. Looking a bit closer, he saw that his hair has a slight ginger tinge when under the light. His eyes were still a bright, clear blue. That was what he missed most about his old appearance, his eyes. Slowly, though, the names Steve Rogers wasn't like bile in his throat. It still left a bitter aftertaste, but it wasn't as bad as it used to be. It didn't mean he wanted to keep this appearance. Quite the contrary. He'd decided that the sooner he was back to his old (fake, he kept telling himself, but he quashed the thoughts whenever they cropped up) appearance, the better.

He decided to take a trip to Hermione's flat (notifying her via patronus) and start searching through her library for a possible way to put a glamour back up. He really didn't want to see this face for any longer than he needed to. It wasn't that it wasn't handsome. Quite the opposite. It's just that it wasn't his. And this bothered him. It really, really bothered him.

When he arrived, Hermione was waiting.

"Hello."

"Hey."

"Why the short notice?"

"Glamour." That was the only word he needed. She sprung into action.

"Okay. I've actually prepared for this. I'll go get the documents from the vault. In the second draw in that chest," she vaguely waved to one of the many chests of draws in the room, "is a compilation of different types of glamours. I've ranked them in the order I think you'll like to use them." Harry blinked. She smiled. "I'm always prepared. It was easy to categorise them, anyway. I already knew the different types really well, from when we were on the run. What did you think I was doing when I left for a few hours?"

"Making tea? Feeding a cat?"

"No to the first, but I did feed your cat. She has quite the set of claws on her." Hermione rubbed her arm, probably where Shemia had clawed her. Harry chuckled. If that wasn't his little hellion, he didn't know what was.

"Don't I know it."

"Why did you adopt her?"

"Well, why did you adopt Crookshanks?"

"Touche, Potter." She smirked at him. If there was one thing Harry appreciated about her right now, it was the way she was treating him normally, not taking pity on him. "I'll be right back." She disappeared into another room. One funny thing about her flat was how over half of it was library and study space.

Harry took out the file. It was huge, with everything categorized neatly. Hermione was a madwoman. He sat down and cracked it open. The options he was presented with were overwhelming.

Hermione returned, arms overflowing with parchment. She neatly placed it on the desk. "Okay, so these are the basics. Before you decide what long term one to use, just do a normal, temporary one. You know how to do those. For long term use, I think the best one to go with would be one you can control at will, but will stay on until you make it go away. That means if you choose to change back to what you look like now, you can do it at will. The only drawback is that it takes a fair amount of energy to keep up. You don't notice it, though, as it's taken over however long you wear it. It's when you take it off that you notice it."

"Okay, what are the other options. There are only names and weird symbols here. I don't understand it, sorry." Harry cringed at Hermione's glare. She snatched the file off him.

"The extreme version is a permanent one, that you will never be able to reverse once you put it on. It involves heavy spellwork, three people to complete and potion that has to be brewed over a year long period. To prepare for it will take months. Gathering the ingredients for the potion, many of which are incredibly rare, will take the longest. I'm not even sure if some of them exist anymore. They certainly aren't in the Hogwarts potions cupboard, or the Professor's store, that's for sure." She stopped her tangent, looking expectantly at Harry. He gave her a thumbs up.

"Alright. Let's look at the others." Harry paused for a second. "Wait, how to do know they aren't in the Professor's store?"

"I never said such a thing."

"You did." Harry's eyes widened. "You've been snooping, haven't you?"

"Never."

"You're lying!"

Soon, the talk of glamours was forgotten as they began a playful argument, which devolved into a pillow fight.

Hermione won. Harry sulked. Then they continued their talk, going further into details. But, deep down, Harry knew what glamour he was going to pick.

LINE BREAK

Nervously, Harry entered the muggle library. After being given a crash course in computers by Hermione, he was ready to begin the task he'd be delaying for two weeks. Reluctantly, he sat down in front of a monitor, opened a browser and tapped in the name that constantly lingered at the edge of his mind in every waking moment.

' _ Steve Rogers.' _

LINE BREAK

_ If you want to, you can join my discord server. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in. _

/Kb9zJgV

_ Sincerely, _

_ Mariadoria _


	7. The annoyance of Genevieve Armand

_ Before I start this chapter, go and check out the fantastic story,  _ **_'A Happy Accident: 70 Years,'_ ** _ by the wonderful  _ **_Njchrispatrick._ ** _ It is where the inspiration for this story came from. If you notice any similarities between the stories, I do have permission to use them _

**_LINE BREAK_ **

On the day Harry Potter researched Steve Rogers in the muggle library, without a glamour on (he still didn’t know why he hadn’t performed it, and it wasn’t like he could perform it now), he found out several things. His biological father was an absolute unit of a war hero. They were similar in one aspect of the two. Except, the kicker was that Steve Rogers was from the forties, being born in 1918 and presumed dead in 1945. How Harry was born in 1980, thirty-five years after was another mystery he didn’t want to delve into. 

As much as he was loathe to admit it, there were more similarities between the two of them. Mainly, their habit of rushing headfirst into situations without much of a plan. There was also the hatred of bullies. There were many more, but Harry wasn’t exactly about to think about them. Just the two main similarities were enough.

Interestingly enough, there were photos of the man looking like Harry did now. Small, frail, with a head that looked too large for his body. It was then that Harry found out about the Super Soldier Serum. He didn’t go further into it, though, instead shutting down the computer and tucking his chair under the table. It was time for him to leave. Just staring at the pages and pages of information was making him feel uncomfortable.

He walked past a stack of books and heard a sharp gasp. A small boy, with kinky black hair and dark skin, peered out from behind a bookshelf. Harry stopped in his tracks. The boy was clutching a well read book, covered in red white and blue. It was all he could do to stop himself from groaning. Those were the colours of Steve Rogers, the aggressively American man.

“Excuse me.” The boy’s voice was soft. “Did you know that you look just like Captain America before he used the serum?” Harry tried not to walk away. This really wasn’t what he needed, not right now. What he needed was to leave and spend some time at home, not looking in any mirrors and having the glamour up as much as it was humanly possible.

“Yes, I am.” The boy looked up at him with awe filled eyes.

“Could...could I take a photo with you?” His voice was quiet, shy. As soon as he asked the question, he cast his eyes down to the floor, like he was expecting Harry to say no. Usually, he would. But, the boy was just so cute, maybe he would say yes, just this once, even though photos with people he didn’t know were something he usually loathed.

“Sure. What’s your name?”

“Gabriel. My names Gabriel, and I’m eight years old.” A genuine smile was spreading over his face, his eyes sparkling. “I’ll be right back.” Gabriel dashed off and soon returned, dragging who Harry presumed was his caregiver (given the fact she looked nothing like him, with wavy black hair and pale skin) by her wrist. 

“I’m sorry about him,” she immediately said. “He gets a bit hyperactive sometimes.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Harry found himself saying. “I’m happy to have a photo with him. Do you have a camera?”

“Mummy always has one. She likes taking photos.” Gabriel dissolved into a fit of giggles and snorts. 

“Well, then, let’s take this photo.” 

Ten minutes later, after a lot of talking with Gabriel, who he was quite fond of, Harry left, feeling slightly lighter. The little boy was like a ray of sunshine. He put a smile on Harry’s face, making him feel not quite so resentful about his new appearance. He disapparated home and was greeted by a yowling Shemia, who he just smiled at.

Perhaps things weren’t going to be too bad now.

**LINE BREAK**

A week later, Harry still hadn’t decided what type of glamour he was going to use in the long run. He was leaning towards the one he could do at will, but the idea of never having to look at his ‘true’ face was very attractive right now. The thing is, through all of this deliberation, Harry had been sitting at home, avoiding the mirror at all costs and putting t-shirts over reflective surfaces just in case the more basic glamour he was wearing wore off. When Harry sat at home for more than two days, with nothing to do, no books left to read and no movies left to watch (they were something he would always love, despite Ron’s utter confusion) he started doing strange things. He performed odd spells, fed Shemia too much and aimlessly walked around. He even found himself bopping along to Whitney Houston’s song, ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody,’ using a hairbrush as a microphone. He would never admit to it, but he actually kind of liked the song. Eventually, the boredom became too much to bear.

So, he decided to go down to Diagon Alley and just do some mundane shopping. Maybe buy a new broom. Wait! He could check out Florean Fortescue’s and see who was currently in charge of it. Surely, they would jump at a chance to sell it, seeing as it was just sitting there. And, Harry slyly thought, they weren’t likely to say no to him. For once, his much hated fame would be good for something.

Mind made up, Harry disapparated, landing in a heap on the ice-cream parlour’s rotting deck. He leaped to his feet, cursing his inability to use any form of magical transportation. Several people on the street jumped, looking his way. When they saw who it was, their faces lit up. Harry cursed and put a very quick ‘Notice-Me-Not’ charm over himself. After standing very still, not even daring to breathe, they dispersed, muttering about hallucinations and seeing Harry Potter. He was lucky that they weren’t super intent on looking for him, otherwise the charm would have been more useless than one of Hagrid’s flobberworms. The relief of not having to deal with ‘fans’ at the moment couldn’t be put into words. Calling people his ‘fans’ always left him with a sour taste on his tongue.

He crept up to the front of the building. He was about to touch the boarded up windows, when someone behind him spoke.

“Harry Potter.” 

He yelped and jumped a mile into the air, before spinning around. He immediately spotted the woman who spoke, who looked vaguely familiar. She was delicately perched on one of the ruined seats, underneath a tattered, faded umbrella. Her brown hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, greasy strands falling in front of her face. She’d seen through the Notice-Me-Not. Crap. At least the others on the street wouldn’t.

“What?” He didn’t have time to be very polite. He was sick of being polite. With his privacy constantly being invaded, it didn’t leave much room to be sympathetic towards people who ‘just wanted one interview for my paper.’ They weren’t even the worst of it. The pushy parents who seemed, for some reason, to think they were entitled to his time drove him nutty. Sometimes, he was tempted to just disapparate away and leave them hanging.

“Have you heard?” Her voice was familiar, niggling just at the back of his mind. He knew he’d seen her somewhere before. 

“Heard what?” he asked, then stopped. “You know what, I don’t have time for this. Just leave me alone, please.” Harry was surprised he’d even said please. She didn’t budge. “Come on, shoo!” She didn’t budge, only tapped her cracked, chipped fingernails on the faded table. The extremely irritating noise made Harry grit his teeth to stop from snapping a sharp reply at her. That was the last thing he needed right now. Just because he wasn’t generally polite, didn’t mean he had to go psycho on people. 

“I’m not leaving until you answer my questions.” She stood and walked over to him, casually leaning against the crumbling red bricks. She was far too close for comfort. Harry’s personal space bubble had been invaded twice over now. Honestly, all he wanted to look at was a prospective business opportunity. At least if he was running the ice-cream parlour, he would have the excuse of work to encourage people not to interview him. Then again, he didn’t expect that to stop them. He couldn’t go anywhere without being swamped with reporters and wellwishers. You’d think nine months after the war… Harry stopped that train of thought the second it cropped up. He didn’t like thinking about the war. He liked speaking about it any less. The memories that bubbled up to the surface were traumatic and not something he ever wanted to relive again.

“I said, I’m not leaving until you answer my questions, Harry.” Her nasally voice jerked him back to reality and the incredibly annoying conversation he was trying to avoid.

“Don’t call me Harry. To you, it’s Mr. Potter.” She gave him a simpering smile, clearly not going to respect what he just said. “And if you’re not going to leave ‘till I answer you, you’re going to be here a bloody long time, aren’t you?” He didn’t look at her, keeping on inspecting the boarded up doors. He was looking for anything that would lead him to who had the rights to the building. 

“I don’t think so. See, I have a trump card that I can play.” She maliciously grinned. In that moment, she reminded Harry a great deal of Rita Skeeter. His face paled. This really was the last thing he wanted right now.

“And what may that be?” Harry hissed. He really was getting pissed off now. 

“If you don’t answer my question, I will tell everyone you’re here. Bet you won’t like that, hmmm?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t experienced before.”

“Trust me, you won’t like it this time. “

Harry snapped upwards, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. He was sick of this woman. “Who are you, lady? What gives you the right to hang around me, like I’m some rare commodity?” She only perked up at his rage. Harry could already see the cogs ticking over in her head, like she had just realised something, or was mentally listing something down. “Get out of here!”

“Well, let me introduce myself, first. My name in Genevieve Armand, junior reporter for the Daily Prophet.” Harry’s face paled again. “And, as for the ‘hanging around you’ thing, I’m a reporter. It’s what I do. In fact, it’s what I was taught to do. So, no, I’m not going to get out of here.” Now Harry knew where he had seen her. It was a few weeks ago, the day his appearance had changed. Did her approaching him have something to do with that? Probably not, but he wasn’t going to rule it out. You could never be too cautious with reporters. If you let them in for too long, they became annoying bad smells that were impossible to get rid of. 

“Well, I’m not going to speak. It’s going to be a fantastic article, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes. It will be great for people to realise that their saviour,” she spat the word, “is such a jerk. Now, answer my question, or I will tell them you’re here.”

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The glasses that sat there were actually fakes that he had made, as he no longer needed them. It was more an attempt to try and return to normality. Well, what was normal for him. If he took them off, articles would be run, theorising about why he no longer needed them. It drove him loopy. After the War, he thought that the slanderous articles would stop, that the gossip would be stemmed, that the crazy theories about his ‘secret love life’ would be pulled out at the root. But that wasn’t the case. If anything, the articles had just become worse, peering into his life, invading his every moment of privacy. He was lucky that the reporters didn’t venture out into the muggle London, where he lived, close to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. That would just be even worse.

“Fine, I’ll do it. What is your question?” Maybe, if he just gave her what she wanted, she would finally leave him alone. Her face lit up, though not in a good way. If her teeth had been pointed, she would have been scarily similar to a great white shark. It sent shivers up Harry’s spine. The better this conversation was over, the better.

“What are your thoughts on Ron Weasley’s new friend?”

“Huh?”

“His new friend, Harper. Tiny blond guy, sickly looking, large nose. Weirdly serious looking. What are your thoughts on this new development?” She grinned at him, like she’d just revealed a big, trust shattering secret. Harry inwardly cursed and fumbled for an excuse. He decided to be indifferent to the situation. That could work.

“I really don’t care. He’s allowed to make new friends. We’re still close.” Inside, Harry was cursing. Of course Armand’s question had to be about that. The one thing he was trying to avoid right now.

“So, you don’t care about who Ron,” as she said the name, her tone became dreamy, “associates with?”

“Who am I to dictate who he spends―wait, why am I answering you?” He shook his head, taking a step back. He’d answered her question. That was all she wanted. Now, it was time for him to leave. A visit to the broom store sounded nice, just to ogle the latest version, despite the fact he had a ridiculously fast one at home, his only splurge in a long time.

“Because you want to, don’t you, Harry?” Armand’s voice was sickly sweet. In that moment, she reminded Harry of a cross between Rita Skeeter and Dolores Umbridge, which was the worst possible thing he could think of, save Voldemort returning. An overpowering urge to escape came over him. But the need to put Armand in her place was stronger.

“Don’t call me that,” he snarled. “You have no right to…” He stopped talking as the telltale prickling of the normal glamour wearing off started at the tip of his fingers. In less than a minute, he would be looking like ‘Harper,’ which wasn’t what he needed right now. Armand would have a field day with it, he knew. “You know what, I’m leaving.”

“No, we haven’t finished talking.”

“Too bad.” Just as the prickling reached his neck, Harry pulled out his wand and turned on his heel, disappearing with a loud crack. Armand was left gaping. 

When Harry fell onto his apartment floor (he’d appeared three feet in the air, most likely due to his panic), he could already feel his appearance was changed back. He cursed (words that would make Molly turn beet red) and returned the glamour. Just the sight of blond hair falling in front of his eyes was enough to make him mad. He was avoiding the problem, he knew. This was fine, though. He would be fine. Better to bury the problem deep down and never face it again.

It was right then that Harry decided he knew what type of glamour he wanted. He would visit Hermione tomorrow and they would start preparing.

**LINE BREAK**

The next morning, Harry appeared in Hermione’s flat without warning. He had notified her he was coming via the floo, which he hated, only making him realise that an owl was far more efficient and far better at not making him feel sick. So, she knew he was coming, just not when he was going to come. Judging by the sound of smashed crockery coming from the kitchen, he’d given her quite the fright. There was a clink of something being repaired, then Hermione called out, “Just a minute, idiot!”

Before she arrived, he noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet lying on the couch. It was opened to a page around halfway. He spied the name  _ ‘Genevieve Armand’ _ under the title, which read, ‘ _ Harry Potter: Losing Bond With Friends?’  _ He sat down on the couch and picked it up, beginning to read. He was very amused at what he was going to find.

_ ‘Yesterday, dear readers, I was sitting outside what used to be Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlour, when I noticed Harry Potter approaching. He was using a ‘ _ Notice-Me-Not _ ’ charm, but, with my sharp eyesight, I was able to see through it. Now, this was the perfect opportunity for me to ask him some questions about something I’d witnessed a few days prior. _

_ See, I was minding my own business, walking down Diagon Alley, when I spied Ron Weasley, talking with someone unfamiliar. As you will know, I am quite smitten with the hero, believing that he did far more for us than he is credited for. I also believe that Harry Potter took a lot of the credit for himself, drawing attention away from others and onto himself. I walked up to Mr. Weasley, totally starstruck, and asked him to sign one of his own chocolate frog cards. He was extremely kind and willing to talk to me. The small, sickly looking man beside him was not the same, I can tell you now. _

_ He seemed on edge, his eyes darting around. When I talked to him, I found out that his name was Harper, no last name given. Remarkably similar to the name, Harry, don’t you think? This Harper was tetchy and dragged Ron Weasley off before he could talk to me further. I personally thought he was being a bit possessive of Mr. Weasley. He could have been trying to draw attention back to himself, seeing as his competition for friends is none other than Harry Potter. I decided that I needed to get to the bottom of this mystery. _

_ When I asked him about it, he was ridiculously reluctant to answer my question. It took a lot of haggling and negotiating on my part, involving some empty threats ( you know I would never harm anyone on purpose, my dear readers), before he answered me. Even then, he was short and sharp, disapparating away before I could get more out of him. But what I didn’t get out of him was fascinating.  _

_ He didn’t know  _ seem  _ to know a thing about Harper. Indifference filled his face when I asked him, which looked to be a well practiced mask. He replied that Ron was able to choose his friends, though his face seemed to say otherwise. And, as my dear mentor Rita Skeeter taught me, there is always something someone is hiding, always a story to sniff out. Unfortunately, as I said above, he disapparated before I could get more information out of him.  _

_ I think that there is more to find out here, my dear readers. Perhaps a story of betrayal and denial? Only I, Genevieve Armand, will be able to find out. Be sure to keep an intrepid eye on this esteemed publication to find out. _

_ Love you all, _ _   
_ _ Genevieve. _

Harry snorted. The entire article was completely ludicrous. There was a reason it was only printed halfway through the paper. Everything about it was fake. At least to him. And to hear Rita Skeeter was her mentor? That really wasn’t surprising.

“Harry James Potter, what have I told you about appearing with no warning? The least you could do is knock!” Harry jumped, closing the newspaper. Hermione appeared in the lounge, hands on hips. Her hair was up in a bun on top of her head, wand jammed through it, sleeves rolled up and sweat dripping down her face. Clearly, she was in the middle of something that was causing her a great deal of grief. A strand of hair fell over her face and she irritably blew it away. “Oh, you found the article.” 

“Yes. It’s very amusing.”

“I think it’s a steaming pile of fabricated vitriol.”

“Well, that’s certainly something,”Harry chuckled. He surged forward and gave her an energetic hug. She squeaked slightly, before melting into the embrace. “I’ve decided what type of glamour to use.” Hermione pulled back, eyes wide.

“Already?”

“Yes.”

“I thought it would take you at least three weeks. It’s only been one.” She seemed slightly anxious, shifting from foot and foot, wringing her hands. Like there was something she wanted to tell him but wasn’t. It puzzled Harry.

“Yeah, but I know what one I want.”

“And which is it?”

“The permanent one, with the potion.” Hermione’s face fell.

“Ah.”

“Ah, what?” asked Harry.

“I’ve been doing some...experimenting. Through that, I’ve found out that the spell...doesn’t work.”

“What?” Harry felt the blood draining from his face. “No, that can’t be true. Is there another variation? Maybe you were just saying it wrong. You have to be saying it wrong.”

“Harry, I wasn’t saying it wrong. The information I have is wrong, and there is nothing on it anywhere else. I’m actually beginning to believe that the entire spell is an elaborate hoax. The more I think about, it the more plausible it seems. Now that I’m looking, there doesn’t seem to be any records of it ever being performed. There are so many things that are just...off about it.”

“Please tell me this isn’t true. Are you pranking me? Did Ron put you up to this?” Harry fell down onto Hermione’s couch, knowing deep down that what she was saying was true. She wasn’t the type of person to lie about something that was so important to him. Ron wasn’t either. The theory of his friends lying to him was Just when he thought a stroke of good luck was coming his way. He should have expecting this, he really should have. 

“It’s true, I’m sorry.”

“Right. Let’s do the other one, shall we? What’s the spell?” Harry leaped up, suddenly invigorated. He wasn’t sure why he was changing moods so fast, but he wasn’t going to complain. Anything to get away from that gloom that threatened to float into his mind.

Hermione blinked. “That was...fast. Are you quite alright?” She looked very uncertain.

“Why dwell on the unfortunate? We’ve got a glamour to do. Come on, let’s do it!” He grabbed his wand and held it in his hand. “Remind me what the spell is again? I’ve forgotten.” 

He hadn’t. It was the pronunciation he was unsure on.

“Okay. The spell is,  _ ‘Tunc Spectat Imperium.’”  _ Harry opened his mouth to perform the spell, but Hermione snatched his wand away from him before he could start speaking. “There are a few things I need to tell you about it.” She pointed at the couch. Harry reluctantly sat down. “Okay, the first. You will need to take it off every few days, for at least an hour. If you don’t, then the drain on your magic will be severe when you take it off. It could make you faint, or worse.” Harry’s foot began tapping impatiently. “The second is that it isn’t compatible with a few of forms of magical transport, mainly Portkeys. You should take it off before you use them, otherwise it will be very painful.”

“It that all?”

“Not yet. Be patient. The world isn’t going to end. To apply the glamour, you say the incantation and imagine what you want to look like, very clearly. To take it off, just say the incantation. Try to be sitting down when you take it off, to avoid your knees buckling. And, never combine it with other glamours, lest it fails and becomes permanent. That means you’ll have to take the one you’re wearing off.” Harry grimaced. Of course he would have to. “Now, let me show you what happens when you take it off.”

“Wait, what do you mean? How can you do that?

“I’ve been using this spell for the last few days, to test out how it works. Look a bit closer.” Hermione gave him that look, when she thought he was being a bit daft. Ignoring it, Harry squinted his eyes. He didn’t notice anything at first. Then, it his him like a slap to the face. There were several subtle differences on her face. A light smattering of freckles spread across her cheeks, there were small green flecks in her eyes and dark blonde strands of hair interweaved with her usual brown.

“How was it?”

“Fine. You don’t even notice it when it’s on. I’ll take it off now, just so you can see what happens. Mind, the effects will be less extreme than yours, seeing as you’re changing your entire appearance.” She sat down and raised her wand. “ _ Tunc Spectat Imperium. _ ” A soft golden light emanated from her wand, and the changes she’d made to her appearance slowly faded away. She sagged slightly, definitely looking far more tired. “Wow. That’s more draining than I expected. Maybe you should take it off every other day, instead.” She shifted. “That’s going to take a while to recover from. Wow.”

“Alright, my go.” Hermione, though her eyelids were drooping, handed him back his wand, handle first. He quickly vanished the temporary glamour and took the fake glasses off his face.

“Remember, you need to clearly picture what you want to look like. If you don’t, it could go quite wrong. You don’t want that.”

“It’s easy enough for you to say.”

“Just breathe, stay calm.”

“I know. Could you be quiet for a while, please.”

“Of course.”

Harry closed his eyes and pictured what he considered to be his true appearance. Gravity defying black hair, blazing green eyes, more lean muscle than human stick figure. Taking a deep breath, Harry opened his mouth and spoke:

“ _ Tunc Spectat Imperium. _ ”

**LINE BREAK**

Three months later, in the warm May of 1999, Harry Potter reopened Florean Fortescue’s. Of course, being considered prime news, it made all the headlines of every newspaper, magazine and gossip rag. The opening day was a smash, selling out within an hour. Harry considered himself lucky he had backup ice cream out the back. The last few months had been totally hectic, but he loved it. He relished being busy. It kept his mind of certain topics that he didn’t want to think about.

And the glamour was working perfectly. In the beginning, he took it off every few days, just as Hermione instructed. Eventually, though, he just...stopped. It had been up for at least a month, and Harry couldn’t be happier. He could look in the mirror without seeing what was underneath. He didn’t need to put towels over the toaster or keep the curtains drawn, to keep from seeing his reflection. It was a freeing experience.

Something strange had happened, though. In his spare time, Harry found himself researching more and more about Steve Rogers, going out into the muggle world far more often than he used to. Despite the fact that he hated the way he truly looked, he could never know enough about Steve Rogers, ‘Captain America.’ He read all the books that were available and sucked dry every resource. He would never admit it, but it was becoming an unhealthy obsession. None of his friends knew about it. Or of his plans to travel to America for a few weeks, to get even more information. He was going to take the trip in mid-June, leaving the running of the shop to one of his wonderful employees, Romulus Armeen. 

So, mid June came and Harry packed up his bags, abruptly telling Ron and Hermione that he was leaving for a few weeks. They said their goodbyes, Ron and Hermione holding hands as he left. Later that day, he went to the Ministry of Magic to pick up the Portkey he had ordered (a shockingly pink hairbrush), taking it to his home and waiting the last half hour for it to activate. It was going to take him to a place in New York, where he would be spending two weeks. After that, he was going to catch a plane to Washington D.C and investigate the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. 

The hairbrush in front of him began to glow. Harry took a deep breath and put his shrunk luggage, spelled to be feather light, in his pocket. In under a minute, he would be in New York. He touched it, and felt a strong pull at his naval.

The pain came immediately. It felt like someone was pricking his skin with a thousand sewing pins. He screamed out, but was unable to move, due to the Portkey. He suddenly remembered Hermione saying that the particular type of glamour he was using didn’t work well with portkeys.

Suddenly, he landed in a heap on the floor. He felt the glamour disappear, along with the pain. He panted hard, falling onto the ground. The exhaustion he knew he would experience soon overtook his body, leaving him shaking. Of course, he had to forget that particular piece of information. Every fibre of his being was cursing his stubbornness about taking the glamour off. 

“What kind of freak shit is this?” 

Harry glanced up and saw a rough looking man with a wild beard looking down at him. His eyes were wild and mad, hands dirty. A strange, deranged grin covered his face.The next thing Harry felt was a kick to the gut, which sent him flying into a wall. He fell to the ground and crawled to his feet, reaching for his wand through the haze of exhaustion clouding his mind. To his horror, the kick into the wall had smashed it completely in two, and the man was approaching him again, looking like all he wanted was to beat Harry into a bloody pulp.

Well, wasn’t this just fan-bloody-tastic?

**LINE BREAK**

_ Hello. Bit of a longer chapter, to make up for the lack of update yesterday. I was so busy that I just didn’t have time to write. After this, I think the average chapter length is going to be around 3000 words, if that’s alright? Anyway, something actually happen in this chapter! Harry is in America, so that’s progress. Don’t worry, there will be a timeskip to 2011, as it is currently 1999 in my story. It will happen, I’m just not sure when. There will be another chapter tomorrow. Woop! _

_ If you want to, you can join my discord server. Link is below and the server is about everything fanfiction. It's set to never expire, you just have to type it in.  _

/Kb9zJgV

_ Sincerely, _ _   
_ _ Mariadoria _

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just now uploading this over here, so it's an old story, with many errors. Hope you enjoy :)


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